


The Scarf

by Jenski



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cute, Gen, human!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1373242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenski/pseuds/Jenski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivan and his sisters are orphans living in a poorer end of Saint Petersburg, and the young Russian is about to come upon a stranger's sudden act of generosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> [Excuse the unnecessary explanations. I wrote this for a short story contest for school. uwu The idea was also spawned from a prompt long ago!]

“It’s so cold,” said a voice, helpless and insignificant in the frigid outside air. Like each warm puff of breath, those words floated in visible wisps of vapor toward the great gray sky above. They danced listlessly like Papa’s cigarette smoke would back home before dispersing and becoming nonexistent.

Well, they were still somewhere. Maybe they were a part of the sky now. Just like home, they were there, but they were distant. Just like home they were out of reach and unlikely to come back anytime soon.

That voice belonged to a young boy by the name of Ivan. It was hardly necessary that he pointed out how cold it was. He and his two sisters knew it very well. They had _lived_ it for so long, but there wasn’t anything that they could do about it now.

The boy was ten years old. On the spectrum of age, that put him in the middle of his sisters. Not actually exactly in the middle, but close. He would always be the middle child, the only boy and one of the stronger holds of their sibling relationship. He was blond—all three of them were—a shade darker than his younger sister’s and a shade lighter than the elder sister. He had unwillingly shed weight over the past few months, and his stomach no longer looked as soft and healthy as it had all that time ago. His nose stuck out so prominently that it was painstakingly clear to see what the cold had done to him. Red as a tomato, the bitter wind had already done its job nipping and biting wherever it could. Any exposed skin was flushed to that familiar pink color.

The elder sister was named Sofia. At thirteen, she was not older by much—but she felt an obligation to look out for the other two. She was not the strong backbone of the group, but she reflected so well upon Mama’s motherly tendencies that she did have an idea of what she was doing. She was responsible for keeping the other two warm. She would knit back when they had somewhere to call home. She made them gloves, which were soft and off-white in color like lambs. Now was a better time than any to feel grateful that they still had the gloves.

Natalya was the youngest. She was only eight. She was the quiet one, the one who feared parting from her siblings, the one who constantly wore a solemn expression on her face. Sometimes it would crease with strains of worry or frustration. The other two often couldn’t always tell. Her eyes were windows to what she was feeling, but they were evasive sometimes.

Sofia worried over her the most. She was always patient while speaking with her little sister, but the answers she needed were not always sought.

_Are you doing alright?_ A vague nod of the head.

_Do you need anything?_ A quick shake of the head.

Sofia understood that these times must be most troubling on the youngest of the three, but sometimes when they tried to sleep Ivan thought he could hear the elder sister weeping softly on her makeshift bed.

Her emotions had always been unstable, they knew that. Sofia’s emotions showed too extravagantly. Natalya’s barely showed at all. Ivan’s were a false mask because he wanted his sisters to be happy. None of them were happy, but they could make the best of it. Pretend.

Ivan always smiled for them.

It had always been that way, even before they lived out on the streets.

Mama and Papa thought everything would turn out perfectly. Mama was especially happy with Sofia and, later, Ivan. Natalya should not have happened, but she was happy with her, too. Their family could still be considered small. Small enough to keep happy and healthy, to keep the house alive with the sound of small, scurrying feet. A personal happiness.

They lived in Vorkuta before they had come to Saint Petersburg. There, Papa worked down in the coal mines and Mama always stayed at home to fend for the children. She knitted, cooked, read, and always worried about Papa. Always. The work he did was dangerous, but he needed it. The skills that she had were passed down to Sofia, who in turn learned to sew and knit and even cook a little bit. Ivan watched and helped to the best of his ability. Natalya was too small to know anything of it, and Mama would always fret about her being near the oven or near the sewing needles, anyway.

They didn’t see their father much. He became a drinker—well, he always _had_ been a drinker. He tried to stop around the time Sofia was born, but it was too heavy a burden on his shoulders to keep it out of mind. It gradually became worse, especially after Natalya’s birth. Mama told herself everything would be alright. She told her children that, too. Papa was always just stressed from work. Strict, cold, distant Papa.

There was an accident down in the mines one day. Papa never came home and Mama lost her smile. It was still there, yes, but it was fake. Ivan knew that. Her face became worn with stress and grief. The smile was no longer shiny, shiny like the sun that hid behind all the snow in the sky.

They moved away from Vorkuta with what money they had. There wasn’t much left after that. Mama couldn’t find work, and then she could hardly care for her three children. They were already short on everything. Their clothes and all of their toys were hardly the fancy things that some other Russian kids had shown off in school.

But Mama couldn’t keep them for much longer. Their close ties were shattered after she was taken away from them. The orphanage couldn’t take them in and there was no one else around who might want them.

The three spent their time on the poorer outskirts of the city, torn away from all other bustling life.

There always was a visual advantage to such frigid temperatures. The snow that had collected over the past week looked flawless and untouched, lining streets and its parallel sidewalks with smooth piles and mounds of sparkling white, which seemed to absorb and reflect what color shone from the streetlights and the lit evening sky above. The sky was a canvas of grey and silver from which those white flakes fell, drifting in aimless paths that were carried by the wind. 

Streetlights did offer a touch of warm shade to the scene—circles of glowing gold that highlighted the small ensemble of colors coming from the buildings behind them, all of which stood on one side of the street to highlight a lack of significant activity in this portion of the city. Fallen snow had only been disrupted by footprints (or the prints of stray animals), which carved tracks without particular rhythm—their visibility was limited until the next dusting of snow would blanket them again.

They had found a small patch of land to make their own personal quarters.

Ivan was in charge of finding food and anything else that could help them out. He wasn’t elected to do so, but he had volunteered to. He hated to leave his sisters behind, but he didn’t want to send them out too far, either. Anything could happen to them. If that was the risk, then he’d rather sacrifice himself first.

Sometimes those stray animals would wander by there. Usually they were aged, flea-ridden dogs. Not all of them were friendly. Ivan liked to try and lure them over, but his attention was often rejected.

It was February. Spring was approaching, but it felt as if the cold days would never end. They still had a long stretch of weeks ahead of them until that time would come.

Then they could start looking for flowers and grass and things like that. They could start seeing the sun again.

But that would all have to wait. They had become good with waiting.

The three siblings all wore coats that had not been washed in a while. Because everything seemed frozen and water would be terribly cold either way, they didn’t dare try to wash them. They also had their soft gloves which Sofia made for them long ago.

His feet crunching softly upon the snow beneath, Ivan stood and prepared to head elsewhere. He wouldn’t go far, he promised them.

It would just be the usual trek for sustenance. Begging almost always did the trick. Ivan had a plush sort of face, a pair of plush babyish cheeks and a peculiar jut of his lower lip that others had trouble resisting.

Other times, he would have to steal. Either way, they had run out of what nourishment Ivan collected for them the last time.

Sofia and Natalya were left to huddle close for warmth. ‘ _So cold’_   repeated Ivan’s words like a broken record in their heads. They watched as Ivan’s figure advanced away from them, disappearing on the turn of a corner as if the snow itself swallowed him up.

The cold was still bitter against his cheeks and nose. He could never tell how long he would be gone for. He hated to come back empty-handed and disappoint them. Sofia never minded, but it still bothered Ivan. Natalya adored his company too much to care, really. Sometimes he took long just to ensure he would come back with _something_.

_Something_ could be lost money. A tossed stuffed animal or anything along those lines. Or, more importantly, food.

His sisters were behind him and out of sight now. Each of his steps echoed between the tall, dreary buildings that rose around him. They had a feel of desolation about them. They were so tall that they seemed to mock him. Laugh at him. He was alone now and he could feel it.

His arms were clutched feebly around his body to conserve some heat, but that did nothing to falter the wintry breeze. Wind whipped hollowly through the naked trees, producing a haunting sound.

As Ivan was about to part from the alleyways and approach where the main street opened, he paused. Listened. There were other footsteps, weren’t there? Someone else was crunching on the white crystalline blankets.

Then someone else appeared in front of him. They would have strolled right by if it weren’t for the boy’s presence. They stopped too, but Ivan was already startled.

He exhaled in an audible gasp, as if all the breath had been drawn out of him. He stumbled back and just managed to catch his footing.

Things usually didn’t scare him, but this person was unexpected. An adult, a stranger, another _person_ —when did he ever expect to run into someone new?  The people he passed by were usually not out and about like this. He recognized some faces by now, but not this one.

The man regarded him with a curious blink. “Well, hey there, little man,” he said. Nonchalant, but pleasant.

Ivan learned a decent amount of English from school, so he understood. But his mind could not process a response. He was staring intently at the man.

He was clearly older than Ivan, but not that old. Younger than his parents and only about twenty. It was evident in his accent that he was not Russian but perhaps from America. His hair was blond like a golden blond, much different than the platinum blond that passed through Ivan’s family genes. He wore glasses and his eyes were blue like the sky on more promising days. He was smiling and he carried something soft-looking in his arms.

“ _Privet_ ,” uttered Ivan, cautious, and then he decided to follow through in English so the man knew he could speak it. “Hello.”

The man acted as if he were prepared for this to take place. He gathered the bundled fabric in his arms and extended forward, holding it out to Ivan.

It was a scarf.

“S’cold, isn’t it? You can have this, kid. It will help keep you warm, promise.” That smile held steady.

Ivan stared at the scarf for the longest time, reaching out with timid young hands to take it from the stranger.

“Sorry it’s pink,” the man added with a jovial laugh. It coursed through Ivan like warm fingers wrapping around his heart. He hadn’t heard a nice laugh like that in forever. “I gave away all the other colors. It’s nice and long, so I bet there’s someone else you can share it with.”

It looked lovely. Ivan could feel its softness and its awaiting warmth through the fabric of his gloves. The man straightened now that the scarf was entirely in the boy’s possession. Success.

Ivan’s eyes finally peeled away from the scarf and stared up at the stranger. Neither of them had exchanged names so far, but that just slipped their minds. “ _Spasibo_ ,” he thanked in a rush of enthrall. It was evident in his own tentative smile, as if he didn’t know how to react at first—he was flustered yet grateful all at once. This was an act of kindness different than someone caving in to handing him food.

The man nodded, grinning his sparkling grin. He gave a mock salute and then laid that hand on Ivan’s shoulder. The contact was brief; just a quick yet concerned pat. “Not a problem. You keep warm with that, alright? Snuggle up and before ya know it it will be spring.”

Searching for food would have to wait. As the man turned to head wherever it was he was headed, Ivan whirled around to face the direction from which he had come. He had to show this to Sofia and Natalya.

He cradled it in his hands as if there were something precious wrapped up in it. Turning on his heels, he bounded off.

Running made the cold bite harder, but he didn’t mind. He slowed, panting by the time he reached his sisters. But the smile on his face had been genuine this time. He thrust the scarf forward to show it to them, fingers splayed to caress the soft fabric.

“That… that does not look dirty or anything! It looks new! How could you have found that?” asked Sofia with astonished joy. She always winced when finding out that Ivan had stolen something. To her relief, this was not one of those incidents.

Ivan explained to the girls what had just happened. They would probably forget about it by morning, because that man was even more of a stranger to them. They didn’t see his face but by the way Ivan described it, he was nice. This was a rarity and no doubt something that would not happen again soon.

But Ivan was already formulating other plans. That scarf would be worn around his neck for years to come.

He knew some other things for certain, too. One, the man was right about the scarf being super warm. Two, he would get his sisters somewhere safe. They would find somewhere warm to go, he was sure of it. That and he would find that man who showed him such generosity. He would find him one day, whoever he was.

The clouds above parted and a blotch of blue showed through. Out here the cold was brutal, but it could never take down warm hearts.


End file.
